


These Flowers in My Heart

by ninecupcakes



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dreamtale, Angst, Gen, Hanahaki Disease, Short Chapters, headcanon in which hanahaki can also be platonic, what else do i tag this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-23
Updated: 2018-05-27
Packaged: 2019-05-12 23:28:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14737835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninecupcakes/pseuds/ninecupcakes
Summary: Flowers are beautiful.The ones that are breaking his bones and his heart are not.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> i've wanted to write something about this for a long time. i need to tone down the angst... :')
> 
> For anyone who doesn't know, the Hanahaki disease (literally meaning flower-spitting disease) is, as explained at the end of this chapter, a fictional disease caused by unrequited love (though it's also platonic in my headcanon. it doesn't exist, you can play with it. uwu). 
> 
> This shouldn't be longer than 3-5 chapters... but who knows.
> 
> i might actually turn this into an au.

It’s been a week, and it’s already proving to be something _unusual._

And annoying.

And scary, mostly.

Given that they were approaching winter, he’d thought it was nothing but a simple cold. Coughing and feeling tired was nothing strange, after all, even if he had never been sick before in his five years of life. He knew those things often went away on their own, especially if there were no aches or constant discomfort to be worried about, so he decided to just let it slide…

…until he started coughing up flower petals.

Small, thin, white. Daisies, probably, even though he was no flower expert, but he did see a lot of them around the town and could recognize a few.

Thing was… where on Earth did those come from?

It had happened at night, moments before he went to sleep. He wouldn’t deny that his mind had gone into a short, confused panic, keeping him still in shock and bewilderment as he’d stared into the petals slowly fluttering down, bound to be lost in the grass.  

He had let that slide too, even if it did hurt a little.

It'd been late by the time it happened for the first time, perhaps he'd been actually sleeping…

It got worse by morning. Normal coughs were done and over with; if he coughed, flower petals would always follow, normally no more than five each time. They were still the same: small, white, seemingly innocent, but causing his mind to painfully spin as he tried to find an answer. It wasn’t normal, he knew. People didn’t cough up flower petals of any kind when they were sick.

Maybe skeletons were different…?

Why _petals_ , though…?

He had kept quiet about it, and he wished he hadn’t. His brother had still been fast asleep by the time he'd woken up; at unholy hours in the morning, though, much before anybody else got up, even before the sun fully lit up the day – it was a tendency of his, – and he would rather not disturb anyone with unbelievable stories about flower petals.

It was when the whole village was up and going and he was helping Neil with everything he could, as always, that his little secret, as he had turned it into, finally saw the light. It was still somewhat early, and a conversation in which both friends mocked his so-called cold and turned it into a reassuring laugh had immediately turned into a drama when Dream wasn’t able to hide the petals he coughed up.

“…did flower petals come out of your mouth or was that just me?”

He didn’t know how to lie. He just didn’t. He didn’t _like_ to, either, not even the whole concept of it, but blurting out the truth like that hadn’t been in his scribbled mind at that moment, which made him end up stuttering some sort of invalid answer until Neil literally dragged him to the closest they had of a doctor there; a shaman of sorts.

All the way through, Dream kept insisting he was fine – ironically, as most of his words were cut off by flowery coughs. The way from the suburbs of the village to the center of it was long enough already, at it seemed like each step he took made it even longer; more and more nervousness grew in the feline’s chest each and every cough.

He wished he’d never heard what that shaman had to say.

“It’s called Hanahaki. Extremely rare… have only seen it once, and it wasn’t even here, but in our old village. It is a variable disease, which causes flowers to grow in the lungs and hearts of people – ribs in this case, I believe, – making them cough petals very frequently. This is mostly caused by unrequited love, but it can also be platonic, when a friend or family member doesn’t care about you the same way you care about them… which is the rarest case.”

“I’m afraid… this disease is lethal. Its first stage is the mere coughing of flower petals, often lasting weeks or luckily months; then comes the coughing of entire flowers and even thorns, followed by inner pain and possible bleeding; and finally… either roots will fill the lungs, or flowers will start sprouting from the inside out… both inevitably leading to death.”

“There are only three ways to cure this disease: when the person they care for dies, when the love or affection is finally shared, or through surgery… but that will leave the victim unable to ever care about the person they loved again, or even worse, render them unable to ever feel love or care altogether.”

Dream knew he didn’t have a heart…

…but he felt it _sink._

...who was so important in his life...?


	2. As Red as Roses

"I'm sorry."

He coughs again, both hands trying to prevent petals from flying everywhere. They're thicker now, tinted in blue; he wouldn't know what to name those flowers. "F-for what?"

There's a moment of silence, and it feels tense. "...for making you sick."

It's been a week; he only told Nightmare yesterday because he didn't have it in him to tell him right away, especially not with his sudden, depressive behavior – it unarguably worried him more than the pain of coughing up flowers.

His Hanahaki was because of Nightmare.

 _For_ Nightmare.

He didn't understand at first... but it slowly began to make sense overtime, and the hammering sensation in his ribcage stopped being what hurt the most. 

Dream looked up to his brother like he was his everything. He _was_ his world; he would die for him without thinking twice. He was his brother, his only family. He cared for him more than he cared for the world itself, because he knew that was what brothers were there for.

Nightmare didn't seem to feel the same way, somehow.

At least, _that_ should be the answer; his Hanahaki began shortly after Nightmare just... secluded himself from everything and stopped talking to him altogether. When he smiled, he smiled too; when he laughed, he laughed too – but when he suddenly stopped showing happiness altogether… he suddenly was fighting against his own love and care.

Had he done something wrong…? He didn't know... but it hurt. Nightmare had done many things for him, yet he didn’t seem to care as much as Dream did, at least not anymore.

But that was as far as that disease could tell him – Dream didn’t entirely believe it.

He doesn't blame his brother. At all.

It's not his fault. He's the one who admires him. 

He coughs again, strangely without petals for once, and it’s relieving. “It’s not your fault, you know that… Besides, I’m fine.”

Nightmare briefly looks at him, almost skeptically, before looking back down.

_He knows he’s not fine._

_He knows it’s his fault._

_Years trying to protect his brother from a treacherous world… and now he’s the one who put his life on the line._

“I mean it.” Dream insists, noting the disbelief. He _did_ feel relatively fine, but the constant coughing hurt quite a bit, more each day, and his voice was forced to quiet. For now, though, it’s mostly annoying, even if he’s fully aware it could get worse, and even kill him… but he knows there has to be a misunderstanding somewhere. “Maybe it’s because of something else. You _do_ care. I know. I would bet my life on it.”

_But he can’t care._

_He doesn’t know what it is to care._

_He doesn’t remember._

_They took it away._

Briefly, Nightmare looks up at the sky. It’s partly covered in innocently grey clouds, blocking the sun enough to make safe eye contact with it.

_He’s hurting his brother._

_He could die._

_It’s because of him._

_He never does anything right._

_He destroys everything he touches._

It’s only midday and Dream is already surrounded by flower petals, hidden among the grass and fluttering with the breeze.

_He did that._

_Those will cut his life short._

_He made them exist._

It’s then when he realizes he can’t hold it in anymore as tears well in his eyes, drops of lavender trailing down his cheekbones when he hears his brother cough again. He’s been hiding tears of pain and sorrow from him for five years – the guilt he now carries prevents him from lying anymore.

Dream only realizes when he hears him inevitably sobbing, then weeping, bawling muffled apologies drenched in pain.

* * *

The clouds have dissipated, letting the moon have the starry sky all for itself. Everything is peacefully quiet, crickets lulling the moon with their melody as the grass is waved by a slightly cold breeze.

It’s the type of night Dream tends to stay up to stargaze and just listen to its sounds.

It’s not one of those times, because he’s busier trying to go back to sleep as harsher coughs keep him up. There’s way more petals now than ever before, and he’s having a harder time trying to keep himself muffled; Nightmare is asleep, and he wouldn’t want to wake him up after what happened earlier.

His chest hurts. A lot.

It’s hard to breathe from time to time, and he subconsciously wheezes.

He woke up in the middle of the night to a coughing fit he didn’t want to go through, and now, he’s afraid. Mostly because there’s no one to help him. Not because they’re all sleeping, but because they simply can’t, and he feels alone. He feels abandoned. He feels like he’s completely alone in the world.

He keeps coughing, and trying to keep it in hurts way more than he’s willing to withstand.

He’s only just realized how dark these petals are; definitely not the white ones he’s been coughing up all day long. They are a little thicker, too.

It’s his curiosity that leads him to inspect one once the disease gives him a moment to rest. It’s late at night, but the sky is so clear and the moon stands so high and proud above everything that he can clearly see the colors around him like it’s daytime.  

Those are… different.

It’s…

…a rose petal.

A chill creeps through his entire body as he watches the red petal between his gloved phalanges, unable to take his eyes off it. It’s then when he’s truly afraid, and cold, and lost.

The coughing of rose petals indicated the beginning of the second stage.

A stage full of thorns and blood.

A stage closer to possible death.


	3. Give and Give Back

"It could be a virus."

"Maybe it's a curse!"

"Is it contagious?"

"What if we're in danger?!"

"Someone has to do something!"

"I'm sure it's a spell."

Neil tiredly watches the village argue between themselves, not finding anything they're saying worthy of his answer or even his attention. Not a single sentence they have uttered is yet worthy of being deemed as understandable or helpful, and it just keeps bringing his hopes down.

He honestly didn't know what he was expecting from a meeting in a small forest in the suburbs of the village about the rarest disease to ever exist and rumored to have no easy or harmless cure, but he still came with wide eyes holding on to the hope of healing a friend in need – they're now half-lidded and not expectant at all.

Confirmed: nobody knows of any other ways to safely deal with Hanahaki.

He'd expected that much. He just didn't want to believe it.

"You're not helping~…" he quietly chimes to himself, irritated, rolling his eyes as more and more senseless theories and worried cries fill an air that would be in more need of actual solutions. He misses those previous ten minutes before the reunion started, when he thought they'd actually get somewhere. What a joke.

"Got it!"

Someone stands up proudly from the ground, eyes determined and sure, earning awaiting gazes as everyone stops talking at once. It's the only person that has gotten Neil's attention since the improvised reunion started; a tall, skinny man, just a usual human, not looking too old or wise. Still… they need help, and anything from anyone counts as long as it's even remotely plausible.

"They did say the disease was caused by the _other_ guardian, right?"

His ears immediately drop in disappointment, and Neil takes one last bored sip of his water; five seconds is all it takes to deem whatever the man has to say as completely useless. Obviously Nightmare wouldn't know how to cure the disease, and Dream had insisted thousands of times that he did care about him and probably something else was going on. Bringing him into the conversation had no point.

"And that it would go away if the one causing it died, right? Then let's _kill him_!"

He spits out the water as his ears catch the four words he was not expecting to hear at all no matter the circumstances. He doesn't even realize people are actually murmuring amongst themselves, seemingly agreeing and nodding until he stops coughing and gets over the initial shock.

"Hold on, _what_?" he stresses, placing the now empty glass on the stump of one of the many cut down trees he'd been laying against and standing up with a nervous flick of his tail.

"Yeah, don't you know?" someone, a small fox-like creature, replies indignantly. "That little rascal is always messing things up. No wonder this is his fault!"

Before Neil can fully comprehend what is happening or look for an answer, the same people who were worriedly yet uselessly trying to help someone in need begin saying things he would have never expected from them, especially not when a life is at risk even if there isn't much they can do.

"He's always been a curse."

"I knew he'd do something like this!"

"Killing him is our best option!"

"He might infect us too!"

"He's bad luck, nothing but bad luck."

The same man who started it actually goes as far as unsheathing and raising a rusty sword; it's not too intimidating, but it's a sword nevertheless. "To hell with him!"

"Whoa-whoa-whoa, _whoa_."

In a second, the cat is standing in the middle of an angry circle of people, walking over to a human he's decided he doesn't like. Fearlessly, he places a clawed finger on the tip of the sword – not even sharp, he realizes, – as slit-shaped pupils glare defiantly, "Put. The sword. _Down_." He easily lowers the weapon, turning back to everyone else.

"Are you _crazy_ or something? We're trying to save a life, and your solution is to take another? He's his _brother_ , I don't know if you realize, and he's sick because he adores him. Oh yeah, that's the perfect solution! He's suffering, let's take away his most beloved person to cure him! Seriously; are you stupid? Off in the head? Huh? What are you? You sound like a bunch of _sickos_."

Everyone stays silent for a moment, thinking, some whispering, before the same fox from before speaks up again. "It's for the best of everyone, pal. He probably has Dream under some sort of mind spell!"

Neil gives him a skeptical look, one of his ears pulled back. "…mind sp-"

"Yeah! He's planning something I tell you!"

"It's dangerous for everyone! How else are we gonna save Dream? Obviously he doesn't care for him, he's evil!"

"He'll do the same to all of us!"

"We must-!"

"That's _enough_."

It's one of those rare times Neil is actually _pissed off,_ to the point of wishing he could punch someone right across the face. It's, too, one of those moments in which he won't hesitate to be overly verbose with anyone who deserves so. He'd thought lowly of the village before. They were only applying salt on the wound.

"You're just blaming him for the hell of it, aren't you? He's a breadcrumb. Reclusive, but hasn't got a speck of evil in him. I don't see what on Earth you see on him to treat him like that; he's really just a much less talkative Dream who's going through a tough time. You, however? Honestly, you're disgusting. We're talking about something _serious_ here, something we should be working on together even if we don't succeed. Did you know that's what Dream does for you _clowns_? He works his life off for you _every day_ , even if he doesn't know who the heck you are or if you don't like him. He'll help you with _anything_ , he'll stress himself out just so _you_ 'll be happy. And what's your thanks? Killing his brother? Now that he's dying for him? _Are you damned serious_?"

Every soul has gone silent at this point.

He couldn't care less.

He's had enough of everyone.

"You're just savages. Selfish savages. You don't deserve Dream or the things he constantly does for you, but you have him, and now you're trying to destroy his family after he's made sure you're all having a better life than he is. You don't deserve anything. In fact, we'd be much better off without any of you. And I don't give a damn what you think about me; your existence is really just a thorn on my side."

He turns around, indignantly flicking his tail.

"Have a swell day."

* * *

When he returns to the Tree, angrily murmuring things to himself through gritted teeth, the imagery is not exactly what he was expecting to see, and he stops dead on his tracks.

Dream is kneeling, one hand against the Tree and the other wrapped around his midsection as he coughs harshly, Nightmare by his side but clearly unknowing of what do to; even from that angle, the feline can see way too many red petals flying out of the smaller skeleton's mouth and tears sprouting out of the eldest's eyes as he helplessly watches.

"Oh jeez–!"

He immediately runs towards the two, almost stumbling, kneeling next to Dream as he reaches them in no time; startling Nightmare as he does so, but the skeleton is more worried about his brother than about the sudden presence even if he really can't do anything.

A hand is placed on his shoulder, but Dream doesn't seem to acknowledge his friend at all. "Kid–hey, are you okay…?!"

What a stupid question. Stupidstupid _stupid_. Of course he's not okay– _he's coughing up blood._

"W-what's wrong with him?" Nightmare's broken, teary voice catches his attention, wrenches his frantic heart, but he can't keep his gaze of Dream.

"I don't know, I… I don't know…"

The moment in which Dream finally stops coughing up countless rose petals and exhaustedly leans against the Tree is incredibly relieving, yet not enough to relieve them of their increasing worry. A thin line of blood trails from the corner of his mouth to his chin as he breathes heavily; he seems almost unconscious.

Tired eyes barely look up at his feline friend – he can't fully open them, and the world around him is slowly being consumed by a blur.

"N… Neil…?"

"Yeah, y-yeah, I'm here… We're here…"

Dream can't suppress a sob, tears welling in his eyes as he hugs himself; there's an agonizing pain in his chest, like his ribs are slowly breaking one by one, like they're being crushed. "I-I'm afraid… It... h-hurts..."

Nightmare can't say anything, do anything but cover his mouth with both hands as tears roll down his cheekbones in silence. He'd never expected the disease to reach that extent so soon, and it's way more than what he can put up with. Something is telling him to run away, run far away and never return, _die on the way_ – but he can't.

All he can do is hesitantly sit down next to the two, and Neil gives him an apologetic glance. He can only imagine what he's going through... The sight hurts him. It hurts him a lot. He knows Dream was never entirely okay psychologically to begin with, and seeing him suffer crushes his heart. He's his best friend. His only friend. He's like his child, his son – the son he'd lost. He's changed his life. He knows he's not going to lose him to some flowers.

Neil wraps his single arm around the shivering skeleton, pulling him close as he struggles to breathe. "It's okay, just keep breathing…"

He can barely take his eyes off the countless rose petals, the _entire flowers_ scattered on the ground, the blood and the thorns.

They need to get rid of that disease, and they need to do it _now_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even know if I'm writing Neil correctly because I know so little of his personality
> 
> That's the fun part of writing him tho


End file.
